


Broken in so Many Ways

by AwkwardBlueFish



Series: Challenges [1]
Category: Batfamily - Fandom, Batman - Fandom, DC - Fandom, Red Robin - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chained up, Comfort/Angst, Drugs, F/F, Gen, Gore, Implied Death, Implied Murder, Nightmares, Teen Pregnancy, Torture, Whumptober, angst/no comfort, whumptober2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardBlueFish/pseuds/AwkwardBlueFish
Summary: ShackledTim’s in trouble but he can’t leave. Not without the girl.Pick who dies | KidnappingA shopping trip goes horribly wrong. Now one of them isn’t making it out alive.Manhandled | Forced to their knees |Ras has business to finish with his grandson. It doesn’t end well.Buried aliveJason has nightmares. They all do. It doesn’t make it any less pleasant though.RescueIf you could save the world what is one measly life to get in the way? Even if they have to die.Get it OutThe decision was obvious but so hard to accept.Enemy to caretakerTim's sick. Selina calls bullshit that no one knew.Don’t say goodbyeSlowly and surely Damian has found his home over the years. Now someone is saying goodbye and Damian will never accept it.Run!The gala was nice today. It didn't stay that wayAlternative: FallingDick wasn't afraid of heights. He was afraid of fallingCryingTim hasn't been around lately
Series: Challenges [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041390
Comments: 20
Kudos: 194
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Restrained in More Ways Than One

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS - Blood, mentions of torture, manipulating, non consensual touching

“They’re not coming.”

Red Robin swallows, the copper staining the inside of his mouth. He shifts, shoulder roaring in pain, raw and open wrists straining against metal cuffs. The melding skin breaks open, blood trickling down his bare arms.

A smirk crosses his lips, it’s exhausted and stretches his cracked lower lip open, stinging as it makes contact with the open air. Despite the haunting words he couldn’t help feeling incredibly smug as he raises his head to grin through bloody teeth. “Good.”

“Oh contrary little bird,” the masked man hums, the sound vibrating and disoriented. His face is permanently disfigured, scraped off and placed in a blending machine only to be glued together by a hot glue gun and stitched on by an amateur who had better things to do. “It just gives us more time to play.”

Red Robin swallows, too tongue licking around his stained teeth. “For now,” he agrees, bowing his head. The effort being to much to keep it up. The back of his neck pulls at the motion and vaguely he wonders if it’ll peel open. 

“For now.” The man agrees, boots leaving muddy prints on white cream carpet. “If you escape, that is.”

The man’s left boot lifts, pressing harshly against Tim’s lower stomach. A harsh hiss is sucked through clenching teeth as broken bones protest against the pressure. “When I escape.” Tim snarls back, spitting blood filled saliva on the ground.

A click of the tongue echoes in the otherwise silent room. The boot is taken away and his body sways forward without the pressure previously against his chest. 

“It’s been two weeks since your capture.” The man says, anger lacing his words as he steps back. “You should know by now not to mess up the room. The room is supposed to be clean remember? You wouldn’t want to upset your little sister when she comes for a visit, now would you?”

Tim wants to tell him to go away it not so polite terms. He swallows instead, forcing himself to nod instead. The satisfaction on the man’s face makes him want to barf.

The girl. The little girl is why Tim hasn’t tried to escape. He can’t leave without her. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t. Because no matter how much pain he’s going through, it’s nothing compared to that little girl.

That small little girl with white hair and green dull eyes. Bandages covered her whole body, head to toe, specks of red usually staining through the white. 

“I think it’s another time for that dose of nimbex, don’t you?” The man hums, the sound terribly cheerful. “You are getting a little too lively for my taste. Jimmy.”

Tim bites back the urge to snarl at the man. That wasn’t his name and no matter how much he said it, taunted Tim with it, he wouldn’t fall for it. His name was Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. He knew who he was. But how much longer will he? How much longer will the little girl?

This man was living in a fantasy. A fantasy to bring back his dead family. His plan was sick and twisted, wanting Tim to impregnate the girl so the man could have his family back. He’s seen the pictures, heard the stories the man wistfully tells the two when they’re together. The girl ‘Abatha’ and him looks startling alike to the couple in the photograph. If they just have a baby, he says, his family would be complete. 

It was sick and twisted and Tim didn’t know how much longer he could put it off.

With the drugs in his system constantly he wouldn’t be able to stop it if the man decided enough was enough. 

Tim watches, stomach doing loops as the man steps forward, needle in the air. His hair is grabbed, forced back and he hisses, glowering at the man through his half cracked mask. 

A broken moan leaves his lips, the liquid forcefully being pushed into his blood. He rips it out, humming as he walks away.

“Please,” Tim whispers to the wooden floor. “You need to get here, if not for me than for the little girl. Please.”

Despairingly Tim closes his eyes and lets his body be manhandled. His kidnappers soothes him, whispering sweet nothings and calling him ‘Jimmy.’ 

He squeezes his eyes shut tight, wishing he could fight against the hands undressing him. This was the worst part. The torture was nothing compared to feeling absolutely violated and being able to nothing about it. Not being able to fight back. 

As touch scarred hands trail against his bare skin he prays for the others to find him. To find the little girl. 

“Please come,” he murmurs brokenly, worsts freshly wrapped only to be strapped down to the bed. 

He hopes someone listens to his prayer. Anyone at all. 


	2. Decisions Not Worth Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pick who dies” | Collars | Kidnapping
> 
> A shopping trip goes horribly wrong. Now one of them isn’t making it out alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Blood, mentions of torture, implied character death, graphic descriptions of violence

“Decide.”

The voice echos in the concrete chamber, words bouncing off the walls and reminding them all how dire this situation really was. 

“No,” Dick spits, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched so tight his teeth rattled. 

Theres no camera in sight, no window or door to give them an easy escape. The only way out was behind the twenty-four by twenty inch sealed steel door.

The cracky static of the intercom bounces off the walls and Tim instantaneously curls his legs around Damian and hunches his body over. Damian lets out a choked whimper, and it sounds so real that his stomach curls and he bears his teeth at the room. They had to play the attacker, they weren’t vigilantes at the moment. They were people, very vulnerable ones. They had to fake it.

Tim thinks they’ve done faking though. It’s been twenty four hours and every hour without a decision one of them gets pulled out the room. The walls are thick but it doesn’t stop the screams.

No matter how hard they thought, how hard they clung to the person being pulled away it never helped. At all. They still got dragged by their shackles while the others thought against their chains. Away from the comfort of each other and to a torture they were all getting awfully familiar with. 

“You have five minutes.” The voice states. One of the worst things was that he could never detect any emotion when they spoke. No regret, no satisfaction. Nothing.

“No! I won’t let you hurt them!” Dick’s voice is a broken roar, echoing around the room in desperation. The voice doesn’t respond. It never dose to their outbursts.

Tim watches as the eldest in the room swallows, licking blood coated lips and forcing his body to sit up. His ribs were clearly cracked, broken maybe. The stab wound in his side didn’t help either.

“Get closer together guys,” he whispers, an order they’ve become familiar with no matter how futile it was in the end. In the end they would be dragged back by the shackles and chains to their respective walls.

Duke and Jason were together, opposite of the small door. On one side we’re Damian and Dick, and on the other Tim and Cass. They weren’t close though, around two meters between them. It was comforting to have someone in near reach though.

Cass eyes the room for a second before she shakily gets to her hands and knees. Ragged breathing fills the room as she strains herself, pulling Duke’s arm over her shoulders. It’s a painful hobble, hisses escaping a broken and bloody jaw.

Cass has gone over there after Jason’s turn, to comfort the boy. Duke hasn’t been through anything like this before. As a vigilante or a boy. He was terrified and rightfully so. They all were.

“I gotcha,” Jason murmurs, biting back a groan as his leg twitches.

“No.” Their sister gurgles, shaking her head and dribbling bloody saliva onto the floor below. Dick reaches over, pressing a hand on Jason’s shoulder and shakes his head.

“You’re knees were kicked in backwards Jay, just stay there. Please.” He whispers. 

Jason shakes his head, freezes, eyes shutting tight. Tim watches his body tense up rigidly before slouching, his head going down and resting on Dick’s shoulder in defeat and exhaustion. God, had it painful to watch Dick drag the man back to the wall.

Carefully Tim untangles Damian’s hands that were clenching at his stained blue hoodie. The boy lets out a huff of protest but quickly moves around to hide into Dick’s side.

The man tenses up, clenching his jaw so tight you could hear them grinding. Carefully he tangles a hand in the boys messy and sweaty locks. Damian curls deeper into his side and Dick was too much of a selfish bastard to tell the boy he was cuddling into his stab wound. Idiot.

Tim crawls over, glass digging into his palms and legs even further as he moves a centimetre further. As soon as he does both Cass and Duke collapse in front of their pile, breathing laboured and ragged.

“Have you decided?” The voice crackles to life and collectively they all flinch. Tim wonders if anyone was faking being terrified anymore.

He swallows thickly, selfishly praying he wasn’t going to be the one picked. It was selfish and wrong and at the same time he couldn’t bare any of the others being taken. What kind of person did that make him?

His times there weren’t even that bad. Cass has a broken jaw and cheekbone. Her right arm was hanging lossley by her side and her leg had deep gashes that still clumsily bled.

Jason had a broken wrist and multiple splits on his lips. The worst was the face that his legs have been basically shattered only for the man to kick his knees in backwards the next time.

Duke had his back burnt up. There was multiple burns on him from boiling metal being pressed against his skin. Not only that, both of his shoulders were out of their sockets.

Damian has both his ankles broken, his face repeatedly punched and a horribly deep cut in his left arm.

Dick had also been repeatedly punched in the face. Both his eyes were dark purple, nearing to black. All of his fingers have been smashed with a hammer and one of his ankles is broken.

Compared to them Tim was fine. The man had taken his shoes off and commanded him to walk on shatter glass. Tim has but he had been too slow. The shackles around his wrist launched him into the sharp embrace of glass and had dragged his broken body along it. He also got a beating to the face, enough that the cuts in his gums were still leaking and tasting of copper.

Jason was the one to answer. “Fuck You!” He roars, spit flying from his lips and blood spraying on his cargo pants.

They don’t get a response. Not a worded one at least. The shackles around their wrists and ankles snap to the ground.

Tim curses, stomach slamming against concrete and ankle twisting at the angle he’s pulled back. His chin slams and drags across the pavement and a howl forces its way past his lips as his nose shatters. Tears spill down his cheek as a whimper escapes his throat. 

Jason screams bloody murder, crying out in pure agony that Tim just wants to cut his own ears off with glass. Dick yells as Damian is pulled from him with a sharp cry and Cass grunts as her back slams onto the wall just beside him. Duke curses and grunts when he’s yanked back next to Jason.

Gnawing on the inside of his cheek he curses, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and resting his heated forehead onto the concrete. 

“You did not decide,” the voice says and Tim shivers, shaking his head on the ground. “Someone will be punished.”

Metal grinding fills the walls and Tim snaps his head up at Duke’s downright petrified filled screech. The shackles around his wrist drag the boy towards the secure door without any mercy for his wounds.

His body twists at the change of angle and Duke howls, tears spilling down his cheeks as broken arms are pulled. 

“Fuck, stop it!” Jason yells, voice desperate as he fights against the restraints. His arms reach to grab at Duke and he howls in utter agony as his legs move in response.

Cass gurgles, eyes dark and flashing a furious charcoal as she struggles. She grumbles and growls and bloody spit dribble down her front as she thrashes in pure rage.

Tim doesn’t hesitate and starts clawing at the ground. Glass digs through his skin, cutting up bone and leaving a trail of dark red blood. It hurts so much but he uses it to his advantage, using the glass to get leverage and to pull himself forward. If he just got that bit further, reached just a little more he could get a hold of Duke. Hold onto him tight and never let him go.

“Take me!” Dick screeches, ocean eyes wild as they scan the room. “Just take me instead! Don’t hurt him!”

Duke isn’t going easily however. His boots scrape against concrete, desperately searching for something to grip onto. It doesn’t work, his shoes slipping on fresh blood and feces but he keeps trying, scraping the soles of his shoes so hard the rubber starts to burn up. The smell mingles with the other putrid smells and creates something gag worthy.

“Duke!” Tim calls, voice hoarse and wrecked. Duke eyes snap to his and he stretches his fingers out despite the grimace on his face. 

Their fingers touch and Tim forces himself to crawl just that bit further. He clamps his palms around Dukes wrist and holds on tight. The boy cries out, bones jostling and glass digging into his skin from Tim’s palm.

Tim clenches his teeth, holding on tight as his brothers body begins to rotate on the floor, the shackles on his ankles now doing most of the pulling. 

“Just hold on,” Tim whispers, desperate and pleading. Duke nods, a sharp cry leaving his lips as his legs pop out their sockets at the pressure. “No!”

Suddenly Duke is ripped from him with a cry. Tim yells but his shackles are pulled and he slams into the wall, concrete trembling under his back and flames falling into his hair and wounds.

He watches helplessly, ears buzzing and bleeding as Duke claws at the ground, mouth open wide and stretched in horror. The small door opens up, slamming as soon as Duke is pulled behind.

“Damnit!” Jason roars, slamming his fist onto the concrete and sagging against the cool floor. 

Damian lets out a sob, hiccuping. Tim watches as a Dick begins crawling towards the boy, both of them being attached to the same wall.

Tim follows suit, knowing the shackles were loose now. He crawls towards them, hearing chains clink in the distance as Cass and Jason follow.

The screams start abruptly and Tim shivers, nearly collapsing to the floor then and there. Instead he swallows, and forces himself to keep shuffling forward.

Eventually all of them surround the youngest. Jason and Dick are on the sides of the boy, since they were the closest. Cass and Tim, being chained to the same wall, lean into eachother and Jason’s side.

“We need to make a decision.” Dick whispers, voice washed out. The screams have stopped now. Not because the bastard was done with Duke. No, the screams have stopped because he didn’t have any energy left.

“You saying we pick one of us to die?!” Jason snaps, head wrenching up from Damian’s sweaty locks.

“What choice do we have?!” Dick retorts, face flushing a splotchy red. “We have to do something or this is just going to keep happening. At this rate all of us are just going to die anyway!”

Damian curls into himself and Cass reaches over, placing a gentle hand on the small of his back. Tim leans into her side, exhausted but offering any support possible.

“Then what the hell do you suggest?! Just choosing one of us to be slaughtered?!” He growls and Tim flinches. Cass does to and Tim sees Damian’s skin jump under the fabric of his shirt at the shout. 

“It’s the only option! We’ve tried everything else! I don’t want anyone to die but what else can we do?!” Dick yells, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes and leaking down his cheeks. 

“I suggest not dying for one! I’ve been there and it’s not fucking fun!” Jason snarls, spit flying past his lips. Tim watches his body trembles in rage and, more importantly fear.

“Just because you were so damn easy to kill!” Jason goes still as a statue and Tim swallows thickly. Cass has gone scarily still and Damian’s hitch of breath echoes in the suddenly silent room.

No one says anything. Dick looks horrified, eyes wide and shoulders hunching to his ears. Cass works her jaw, desperate to say something while completely ignoring the subtle swelling of her cheeks and the pain in her shock.

“That’s enough,” Tim whispers. It’s quiet but in the silence is carries out. “That’s enough.” He repeats, louder and more firm. “This is what he wants. He wants us to fight, to argue. To turn agaisnt eachother. He wants to break us and it’s working.”

He doesn’t get to say more. Dukes shakles that stretch across the floor start to strain and lift. They watch, silent and horrified as his limp body is dragged back into the room. The door slams shut instantly, leaving Duke to crawl to his spot on his own or risk being dragged by the shackles.

“I’ll get him,” Tim murmurs to the room. He crawls forward, hands gripping on Duke’s chains as his body trembles. The world spins like a roller coaster around him but he grits his teeth and continues forward.

He’s staring at the walls now. It’s silent besides the wheezing breaths escaping Duke’s parted lips. A bone as white as snow is a stark contrast to his tanned brown skin as his makes itself known through the ankle. 

Bruce wouldn’t make it in time. If he was he would already be here. He was on a case in Africa, leaving the boys at home alone. Alfred would be worried, calling Bruce and telling him that they hadn’t come home from grocery shopping. Oracle was most probably watching the camera feed, trying to find where they were last seen. They wouldn’t find them in time.

Tim swallows and his head falls onto Cass shoulder. Her cheeks were twice the size, an angry red and bulging. It kind of reminds Tim of when she got her wisdoms removed. 

Cass still manages to give him a smile and Tim smiles back. It drops from his lips quickly and his eyes trail down to the wheezing figure on her lap. 

“You doing okay, Mr. Wheezy?” Tim murmurs and Duke chuckles, blood bubbling from his lips and spilling past his cheek, staining Cass ripped leggings.

“I’m still awake if that’s what you’re asking,” he mutters back and Tim laughs softly. He reaches forward, hand resting on his little brothers cheek and rubbing small soothing circles.

“That’s good,” Tim hums. 

A sigh escapes his lips and Tim gazes at his family. He had a plan. It wasn’t really a plan, not really. But it would get the others freed. It would get Kons attention. It would save the rest of his family.

“I have a plan.” Tim says softly. He can feel the eyes boring into the side of his face but he simply smiles. “I have a plan. I can’t tell you, you’d be against it. But it will work. It will.”

Dick licks his lips, swallowing as he rubs Damian’s back. “What do we have to do?”

“The next time he says to decide. Say my name.” Tim says. He’s nervous but he keeps his words strong and voice firm. They had to listen to this plan. They’d all die one after the other otherwise.

“No.” Jason says, shaking his head but Tim meets his eyes. Jason tries to keep the contact before he rips them away as if burned. Tim smiles softly.

Dicks eyes flicker between the two. “How sure are you of this plan working?” He asks and Tim turns to face him. He grins a bloodied smile.

“95%” he says and chuckles at the various reactions. Damian uncurls from between the two boys as Dick and Jason stare at him in silent shock. 

“You’re plans only usually range from zero to eighty percent Timothy.” Damian acuses, voice soft and desperate hope shining in forest green eyes. Tim nods. He knows this.

“Always the perception-est,” Duke chuckles, coughing soon after. Cass rubs his arm but her eyes never leaves Tim’s.

Dick shakes his head but slowly he pauses. They have no other plans and they can’t afford to be here any longer. Not with these injustices. Tim knows this and so does Dick.

“At best?” He asks cautiously and Tim grins and snickers to himself. It’s fake and it rattles bruised ribs but he needs for them to believe it.

“Most of us get out alive!” He grins, winking at them all. 

Jason chokes on his spit and Dick splutters. Damian scowls at him and has no trouble reaching over and slapping Tim upside the head. Duke chuckles. Cass’ gaze bores into the side of his face. Tim doesn’t look at her, focusing on the others. 

“Not funny man,” Jason mutters but a smile stretches at his lips. Good, he bought it.

“I don’t like it,” Dick murmurs before sighing, whole body sagging. “But let’s do it, I guess.”

Tim’s heart rattles in his ribbed up cage and the room seems just a little brighter. “It’ll work,” he reassures. “I know it will.”

Cass shakes her head, a gurgle escaping her lips. Tim finally meets her gaze and sees the horror, the relizadtion. He smiles and leaves a bloody kiss on her forehead. The tears track down her cheeks as Tim rubs at the bloody lip stain on her forehead with a bruised thumb.

The speakers crackles and Tim knows it’s time. “Who dies? Decide.”

“Me,” Tim says to the room.

The voice is silent. The others have to agree. They have to say it. They know this. Otherwise Dick would be long dead by.

“Tim.” Dick says, voice firm. It doesn’t hide the worry shimmering in his eyes.

“Timbers,” Jason mutters, crossing his arms and looking away from them all.

“Timothy,” Damian says and Tim sends the boy a soft smile.

“It’s Tim.” Duke wheezes, coughing harshly, whole body convulsing.

Cass lets out a gurgle, but her eyes are too busy staring at Tim to show her disagreement. Good. The person will take that as a yes. 

“Very well.” The crackling stops and the shackles around Tim’s wrists and ankles hiss open to collapse on the floor.

Tim doesn’t move. He watches as the wall with the small door suddenly lifts up. A man stands before them, face covered by a gas mask. There was nothing identifying about him. Smart.

“Come.” He says and his voice is nearly soothing as he stares him down.

Tim swallows and nods. He crawls to the man, arms shaking under his weight. The man says nothing, just watches as Tim drives his body to move. 

He says nothing as he pulls a gun from his holster at his waist. He says nothing as he rests it against Tim’s forehead. He says nothing as the safety clicks off.

The others are yelling now. Fighting against their restraints. They’re crying, cursing him for tricking them. But Tim hasn’t. Kon will hear his heart stop. He doesn’t actively listen in but he knows Tim’s heartbeat. Has familiarised himself with it. He’s done it with Bart and Cassie’s too. He’ll know when Tim’s stops.

He was going to die. And that’s alright. He couldn’t let Dick die. He was already to selfless. He was the glue and there no way Tim would let that be taken away. 

Jason was terrified of death. He has nightmares all the time. No one deserves to be die twice, no one deserves to be tortured only to die again. 

Cass was an angel. She was a sweetheart. She loves so much and isn’t afraid to show it.

Damian was a kid. An innocent kid whose been put through far too much. Tim wouldn’t, couldn’t let him die again. 

Duke was new. He had a family he was searching for. He needed to be there when they found his parents. It’s the least he deserves.

And maybe Tim was being partly selfish to. He couldn’t stand to watch them cry and scream. He couldn’t stand to watch them crumble and break. So he wouldn’t. 

“It’ll work.” Tim whispers.

The man pulls the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this too much...


	3. Unwavering Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ras Al Ghul has business to finish with his grandson. It doesn’t end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Blood, death, manipulation

“What do you want from me?” Damian snarls, struggling against the rope tight around his wrists.

His grandfather, no, Ras Al Ghul stood before him. Green cloak pristine and a smug look on his aged face.

He lifts a hand, a simple palm and Damian stops struggling. He stills, cursing internally at the control this man still had over him. He wasn’t apart of league, not for a long time. He wasn’t a slave or a warrior anymore. He was a Wayne. He was human. 

A smirk slithers onto the man’s face, smug and, by the looks of it, incredibly amused. He doesn’t say anything, festers in the silence for a good minute. It was a tactic, to get his prey to sweat. Damian wouldn’t fall for it. He knew Ras’ tricks.

“I’m no idiot grandfather,” he spits the last word out, like it tasted of poison. “I know your tactics. They will not work on me.”

Ras chuckles at that, the sound echoing ever so slightly on the golden creamed colour room. His arm returns to his side and he takes a step forward. Damian’s forest green eyes glare into grass green ones. 

“You may think that little one,” he murmurs, an unsettling smile stretching at his lips. “But I am in control.”

“Prove it then.” Damian snaps, shouldering off the hands holding his shoulders.

Katanas unsheathes from the sturdy place on the dispensable men’s hips. They’re at the ready but they wouldn’t dare do anything without their masters orders. They would be dead if they even tried.

“Of course,” he smiles back and Damian’s stomachs sinks to his boots. That smile, that smile only ever came out when he knew he’d get his way. “Bring in the package.”

The paper doors slide open and Damian’s eyelids peel back in shock. A woman, a pregnant woman struggles in the arms of two men. Tears stream down her blotchy cheeks, hiccups breaking through her whimpers as she cradles her arms around her belly is desperation.

Damian whirls around, wrists slipping through rotting rope and he attempts to lunge. The cool metal of a blade pierced his skin, drawing blood and Damian stills. 

He grits his teeth as a man shoves the woman to the floor without a hint of concern for her wellbeing or the unborn childs. The brunette cries out, snot dribbling past her lips as she whimpers in the floor.

“What are you doing?” He spits, fingernails splitting the skin in his palms with how hard he clenches them. His body shakes and the grinding of teeth is nearly palpable for the whole room to hear.

Ras doesn’t answer though. He simply eyes the figure holding the katana to his throat. The silver shimmers in the light of the window, sparking despite the generations of blood it surely spilled. The sharp edge presses deeper, just for a second before it’s pulled away. The slightly cut skin clings to if for a millisecond before red hot blood overflows. 

“Kneel.” The voice is rich and deadly, blood of all he’s killed behind that smile and in those eyes.

“No,” Damian snarls, brows furrowing and shoulders tensing.

A figure walks past but Damian keeps his gaze on his blood relative. He doesn’t look until a piercing shriek full of terror fills the room.

Panic beats through his blood stream, heart hammering against the rib cage around his heart as the woman is pulled harshly to her knees by her hair. She cries out, fists fruitlessly attacking the figure until the cool blade presses to her delicate neck.

“Stop!” The cry slips past his lips and the world falls silent. He can hear his own breath, his heartbeat but the woman’s badgered breathing and soft sobs seem to drown it all out. 

Ras simply glances at him, as if he was a mere speck of dirt on the bottom of his pristine shoes. “Kneel.”

Damian licks his lips, throat bobbing. “Don’t hurt her.” He warns, as his legs tremble. His knees quake and his arms shake like a leaf in a hurricane but he kneels.

Dust particles float to the air at the movement bit Damian pays them no mind. He’s too busy staring at his grandfather, the one that he can’t help but loath and love oh so dearly at the same time.

“Pathetic,” Ras hums, as if it was a mere observation. “Cut her head off.”

Damian cries out, struggling at the arms suddenly embracing his figure. The woman meets his forest eyes with her soft brown ones, mouth open in terror. 

Blood splatters everywhere. It speckles in Ras robes, it splatters on the walls and stains through the paper doors. It gets in Damian mouth and it tastes like warm copper and he cries out.

A thump echoes the room as the body collapses, blood steadily streaming from the neck like a fiery river. The head follows shortly after, flying metres away before smashing to the floor. A permanent, terrified look is drawn on the face.

Damian screams.


	4. Haunting Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason has nightmares. They all do. It doesn’t make it any less pleasant though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Blood, torture

Jason still has nightmares. 

Tonight just seemed to be one of those nights. It was the worst kind too. Because they weren’t just nightmares, they were memories. Memories he wishes he could just forget and never think of again.

Shadows stretch across the walls, a crowbar shattering his bones one by one. Consistent, crazed and unhinged laughter echoes in his head and taunts him. Mocks him. Tortures him.

He’s watching red light as it lights up the dark room, struggling with each breath as the bomb counts down. He dreams of how it felt to know that he was going to die, that he wouldn’t survive the blast. His stomach drops to his broken ankles, the feeling of wanting to cry and scream but his throat was clogged. What was the point anyway?

His own mother, the one he loved and cherished more than anything had left him to die. Jason didn’t know if she meant it, if she wanted to help him. Or if it was her own needs to survive that left him there tonight. 

Then there was the feeling of resignation. He was going to die. There wasn’t a slight possibility he would survive and Jason had never believed in god. It’s hard to when you’ve lived in the streets of Gotham city for the majority of your life.

The numbers flicker to a zero and he wakes up, a silent gasp on his lips as phantom burns lighting up his skin. It was hot, boiling and there was pain. And then there was nothing.

Jason doesn’t go to sleep after those nightmares. He never does and tonight was no different. It didn’t matter if he did or didn’t either way, the nightmares, no, memories always continue afterwards. An old tape that doesn’t have a stop function.

A warm mug of hot chocolate warms up his scarred palms minute later. They feel grubby though, grimy and dirt rotten. He stretches his fingers, can almost feel the dirt under his nails and drying up his skin, can feel the stretch as it pulls at his skin.

With a sigh Jason runs a hand through his hair, ruffles it and rugs at the end of his charcoal locks. He lets his eyelids close, a breath rising his chest. 

Suddenly he isn’t cuddled into the edge of a rough red coloured couch with his mug. No. It’s dark and breathing feels so much difficult. He doesn’t have enough air but he can’t get out.

He kicks, bugs falling into past his lips as screams of desperation escape from his throat. He feels wrong, grimy and dirty but the clothes feel like they’re fresh, itchy and uncomfortable. Just like the ones Bruce and Alfie force him to wear during those stupid charity events.

Bruce. Where was Bruce? Where was he? Jason needed him, he needed his dad and he needed him now. 

His breathing picks up, blood pumping through his veins. Tears stream down blotched cheeks and his throat is scratched red and raw. It hurts to cry, to sob and scream but he can’t stop.

He doesn’t know when he starts clawing at the thing caging him. It was smooth but rough and solid. Something pricks his skin, a splinter perhaps but Jason doesn’t stop.

He’s screatching, clawing and kicking. Blood splatter onto his cheeks and forehead, his fingers splitting and cutting at the vigorous escape attempt. He doesn’t stop, keeps going until the wood starts to jolt under his fingertips.

With a scratch a nail is ripped off from his finger and Jason howls, choking on dirt and worms. His works is dark, he can’t see and dirt is invading his lungs.

He keeps attacking the dirt, digging and wiggling his body up. He hopes it’s up. He doesn’t know if he’s digging the right way, and his chest feels like it was going to burst and there’s no light, it’s so dark, so cold and he can’t breath-

Jason starts with a yelp. Quickly he scurries to his feet, muttering curses as and wiping at the burning in his thighs. The mug lays on the scratchy neon brown carpet with his bare toes, the untouched but warm liquid spreading through the wool.

“Shit,” he grumbles, gripping his hair in frustration. He tugs and tugs, pretending the pain of the pulling is the reason for the selling up in his eyes.

He swallows, a lump stuck in his throat and making him feel sick. The rooms is a mess and the carpet is more than likely stained. It didn’t matter, not really. It already had blood stains in it.

Shoulders trembling and cloth sticking to him because of sweat and hot chocolate Jason feels uncomfortable. Like he wasn’t in his own skin. 

Fingers tense and tremble as he reaches for his cracked phone resting quietly on the coffee table. He had left it out here during the day and didn’t bother going to get it when he was in bed and realised he’s left it.

The light from the screen makes him squint and the white numbers blend in with the picture behind. A picture of his shitstain of a family at a beach. It was a selfie, something Dick had insisted on. It was hirrible and only Damian was actually looking at the camera. It was perfect.

His phone unlocks automatically and Jason swallows and clicks onto his contacts. He presses the number of the person he needs to talk with most and strides over to the window.

“Mmm, Jay?” The sleep drunk voice murmurs. Jason chuckles wetly as the moon shines down on him from above.

“Hey pops.”


	5. One Life Against Millions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the run – Failed escape – Rescue  
> If you could save the world what is one measly life to get in the way? Even if they have to die.

Jason was scared. Not like he would ever admit it to anyone though.

The Joker was out of the asylum again. No one knew how he escaped this time. There were no dug holes in the walls or the floors. The security cameras had been tampered with so the only thing the bats and Commissioner Gordon and his beefy detectives saw was the Joker cackling at the screen for a good full on two hours before going to bed, not before wrenching his hand across his neck in a slicing motion.

No, Jason wasn’t scared of the Joker. The fear loses value after dying by the man apparently. No, what Jason was scared of what Joker could do. What he was doing now. What he was doing to Tim, his annoying smart but dumb as a bag of bricks brother, right now.

Joker had planted nuclear bombs around Gotham. No one knew how he got his filthy hands on them. All they know is that they are deadly and will kill every residence in Gotham under less than ten minutes. Every hero available was searching for them, looking for them to stop the destruction of their home and the death of millions. Jason would be still searching for them too, if he knew it wasn’t a damn fluke.

The bombs were real. They were very real and very much were nuclear. He remembers seeing it, small but deadly. His stomach had dropped down into his boots, his ribs squeezing his heart and his hands felt clammy. But the thing was, there was no activation on it. There was nothing Joker had done to it so he could activate the bomb. All there was was a spray-paint of Red Robins symbol crossed out in a velvet red.

Jason hadn’t stayed around longer. He had left, feet pounding against concrete and them two wheels of his motorbike staining the surface with charcoal stains. His mind was blurry and he had stupidly, amateurly hadn’t told anyone that it was a fucking fluke. The only reason he knew they had figured it out was because of his comm. Everyone was worried, terrified for Tim. They knew what Joker was capable of. He had a damn body count to remind them exactly how deadly he truly was. And Jason was apart of that body count, he was a reminder that the Joker was far from human. He didn’t show mercy, he had no sympathy. He was a monster.

“The bombs are our top priority.” Batman cut in, and it was Batman because no emotion was laced behind his voice. No emotion that his son was most likely already fucking dead. No emotion because showing emotion as Batman made him weak.

“Bruce-“ that was Diana. Her voice was angry, trembling in outrage. You could hear the fury in her voice, the anger she had no qualms about squashing down.

“No.” Batman cut her off, voice flat. “Get the bombs. Get them out of the city and somewhere safe. If we don’t everyone in Gotham and beyond is dead.”

Diana inhales sharply and Jason snarls, low in his throat as he presses on the gas. He knows where Tim is. He can get to him. Damn what that bastard says.

“What about Tim?” Damian whispers, voice small and quiet. He shouldn’t be here. He should be in bed worrying about school and assignments. He shouldn’t be out here, trying to figure out why his father wasn’t even trying to save his brother when there were enough heroes to collect the bombs and save Tim. 

There’s a shaky inhale. A moment of hesitance and Jason can’t help the finally float through his head. A bit of Bruce Wayne, their dad. It doesn’t last long. “One life is nothing compared to thousands.”

Jason’s ears ring and its not from the outrage that follows that simple sentence. He swallows, chews on the inside of his lips and reached up and yanks the damn thing from his ear. It tangles in his hair before falling to the road without a sound. Its not broken, they were built to last. If they wanted to find him, they could use that. Meanwhile? He’s saving his brother. He doesn’t care what anyone says.

He’s pushing the speed limit on the motorcycle, the wind whips at his cheeks, tugs at his hair, pulls at his skin. He presses on the gas harder, turning corners so fast his cargo pants brush against the road and his elbows bleed as the skin is scraped off. The blue screen shines on top of the handles, the blue dot slowly closing in on Tim’s flashing red one. He was nearly there.

It takes barley a minute at the speed he’s going but it feels like an eternity. Because Jason knows what its like to be tortured. He knows what its like, that helpless feeling swelling in your chest and telling you that they will come when a voice whispers in your head about why would they? He knows the crippling fear, the claustrophobia and panic that keeps the blood pumping in your veins. He knows the feeling of hopelessness because he’s been there. And now is brother, his baby brother could be feeling those exact things. And knowing Tim, he might be feeling recognition because he thinks he’s not important enough, not over the mission. for Jason, Tim would always be important enough.

The bike skids to a stop, the force slamming his chest into the handles and bruising his ribs. With a cough and a muffled groan, he jumps off, kicking the stand and being patient even when he wants nothing more than to go in guns blazing. He needs to be patient, needs to make sure his bike is hidden in case anyone saw. He needed an escape after all and the bike, no matter how uneasy the ride will be, is his- their escape.

It’s a rusty shed. Go figure. Jason studies his surroundings and the only entry point was the door. There were no windows and no other ways to get in or to get out. A fence surrounds the shed, the wire cut in multiple places leaving holes big enough to walk through. The walls of the browned with rusty shed were spray painted with vulgar words, hearts around initials and a couple of ‘Fuck Batman’s.’ No wonder why Joker chose this place.

Right near the entrance theirs a cut in the wires. Its big, in both height and length. If Jason needed to, he could run through there with Tim without it being too much of a struggle.

Inhaling the putrid air Jason is careful as his boots crunch against rotting leaves. The air is hot, suffocating and Jason really should’ve listened to his conscious and take off the damn jacket. He was sweating as if he was in a boiler, sweat running down his back and white shirt clinging to his skin. The sweat was cool against the hair.

The leaves crunch under his boots and Jason stalks towards the door. Its crooked, the hinges hidden in the grass and fallen leaves but somehow the door stays up with enough residence that it wouldn’t be an easy escape or easy to enter. Swallowing thickly Jason kneels against the rusted shed, hands barley grazing the steel and catching on a rusted nail. If he leant on the shed, he feared the noise would warn the occupants of his presence. He needed to know Tim was alive, he needed to know why Tim was targeted. He needed to know.

Jokers echoing laughter pierces his ears and Jason resists flinching back. It was just a laugh. A laugh wouldn’t hurt him. He leans closer, hand taking out the gun attached to his waist slowly and cautiously. A crack of bones has bile simmering in his stomach and the following scream brings the taste to the back of his throat.

“You know you were always the Robin I despised,” the Joker coos sickly sweet and Jason keeps the snarl trapped between his teeth, “and I killed one! Then you had to come along just when Batman was finally getting interesting.” The playful drawl comes to a stop instantly and Jason chews on the inside of his cheeks. “He was hurting people. Killing them nearly. It was so fun, so exhilarating to watch! And then you came along!”

A scream tears through the night and Jason jumps to his feet. The steel slices his hand as he wrenches it open and crashes heavily against the mud, grass and leaves behind him. Joker whirls around, bloody grin dripping down his chin as he meets Red Hoods furious gaze.

“Come to save the baby bird?” He coos, stepping on Red Robins mangled and shredded foot. A muffle groan echoes on the walls as Red Hood aims the gun right in the middle of Jokers forehead. “I’m surprised. No one ever wanted this little bird. I know B didn’t and that spunky little Robin? Oh he loathes him! I’m surprised you of all people showed up to save our replacement! He’s better left for dead-!”

The shot of the gun resounds in the room. Blood splatters across the walls, a stark contrast to the brown rusted steel. A sharp scream escapes from Tim’s lips as Jokers blood and parts of his brain splatters across his face.

Jason rushes forward, cupping Tim’s bruised and swelling cheeks in his palms. He wipes away that things blood with a soft coo, hushing the crying noy. “Its okay Timmy. He’s gone and I’ve got you. You’re safe and no one is going to hurt you ever again.”


	6. A Decision that Could Change Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Get it Out” – “No more” – “Stop Please”  
> \- The decision was obvious but so hard to accept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Teen pregnancy, mentions of possible abortion

Cassandra was worried.

Stephanie had locked herself in her room. She was crying, Cass knew. The muffled sobs barley reached past the door but it was there and it was absolutely heart wrenching. Stephanie didn’t cry much. She was always smiling like a blooming blossom, as if nothing could ever get her down. She was always so genuinely happy, a smile painted on her face as if to show it was permanent. But now that painting was crumbling and the paint was trickling down and ruining that blossoming picture.

She wouldn’t let anyone in. Not Tim, not Barbara and not her. Tim says to give her time but he doesn’t want to. Cass can see it in the way he hesitates, eyes gazing at the door for too long. The way his bare feet shuffle on the wooden floor, his toes wiggling in worry. He left after that but he still glances back with worry drawing his eyebrows down, worry painting bags under his eyes. He left but Cass refuses to leave.

Barbara had stayed too. She said it might be a girl problem, joked Tim wouldn’t be able to understand. That doesn’t make sense to Cass, Tim understands everything. So, she doesn’t reply, instead she pulls her knees to her chest uncaring of the sting in her thighs. She waits and she waits. Barbara leaves soon but her expression is open, sad and worried that she has to leave. Cass understands, her dad wanted her home for their Friday family dinner. So, she whispers good bye before shifting so she’s watching the door with her legs crossed and her arms resting in her lap.

She sits there for hours, enough time that the muffled cries have ceased. Jason comes by, pats Cass’ hair and tells her they’re leaving for patrol. He doesn’t ask if Cass is coming, he knows she’s staying here. Its nice not having to be able to explain her actions. Jason, Tim and Bruce just know. Its reassuring so Cass just smiles as he retreats, foot falls echoing heavily in the abandoned hallway.

As the hall darkens to pitch black, she hears shuffling. She sits up, eager and adrenaline pumping through her bloods. And then the wooden door littered with stickers and little trinkets creaks open quietly and oh so slowly. Stephanie stares ahead, beautiful blue eyes clouded over like a murky pool instead of her usual shimmering ocean eyes caught just as the sun shimmers on the surface.

It takes a while, far too long for her to spot Cass. That scares her too the core because Stephanie was always a magnet when it came to people. She sourced them out as if her life depended on it. She was quick to find people, to attract them to her with her blinding light. Jason had joked it was a superpower and Stephanie had given him this tiny, amused smile. But that wasn’t the girl standing before Cass right now. This girl was haunted and oh so sad and desperate. Desperate for what, Cass didn’t know.

“Wrong?” Cass spoke quietly to her friend, to her sister. Stephanie didn’t startle despite the fact she obviously hadn’t known Cass was there. Instead her murky eyes trailed towards her sitting figure slowly and blinked her red and puffy eyes at her owlishly. “You sad. Worried.”

Stephanie didn’t say anything, Cass just felt her eyes phase right on through her as she stood up with a slight struggle. Her legs were numb and tingly, blood rushing through her legs with an easy flow while it was previously a struggle with the restriction. When Stephanie doesn’t say anything and watches Cass with that small heartbroken and terrified frown Cass cups her warm cheek. Gently she wipes at the red face, frown stretching at her own lips as Stephanie sags into the warmth like putty with a barley restrained whimper.

“I help.” Cass reassures, her voice quiet and warm despite the roughness that would always underline her words whenever she spoke. The frown twitches lower on her lips and cause creases on her face as a few more tears escape those murky eyes.

“You can’t.” Stephanie tells her and Cass doesn’t like that answer. Not one bit. “Not unless you can get it out without me feeling guilty about it.”

Cassandra doesn’t understand that answer. As if sensing it Stephanie gives her a sad smile, palm sliding up to cover Cass’. Gently she pulls away, hesitantly like she was afraid, and led Cass into her room by her ice-cold hand.

Stephanie wasn’t a clean girl, nor was she messy. She let herself be herself, her trinkets and interests usually decorated around her room for all visitors to see. There were clothes usually on the floor, some tangled in the sheets of her bed and others barley hanging from her closet. Stephanie also liked lights, she had many fairy lights hanging along the walls and over dressers. Pillows were sprawled all over the floor and her bed as well as stuffed animals of various shapes and sizes. Her Gryffindor scarf lay haphazardly over her wheelie chair as the laptop light shone in the darkness. Cassandra always found her room beautiful and it was no different this time as silver and gold glow in the dark stars painted the ceiling shone down on them as they walked.

They walked past the room to the ajar door towards where Cass knew Stephanie’s bathroom was located. The light cast a shadow across Stephanie’s face so Cass squeezed her hand, reassuring as they made their way to what had Stephanie so hopelessly devastated before. Stephanie halts before the door and Cass can feels her veins drumming through her skin. She takes a breath, squeezes her eyes and pushes the door open with a crackly creak.

The tiles are cold under their bare feet but Cass was never affected over something as simple as that and neither was Stephanie. She walked into the room, letting Stephanie’s hand slip through her fingers to let the suddenly frail looking girl rest on the closed toilet seat. Cass waited as Stephanie inhales sharply, straightening her back as she presses her palms on her knees.

“I want to get it out but I can’t. It’s my responsibility- I’m not ready for this!“ she cries out, slamming her palms to her cheeks. Cass wait for her to finish, waits as patiently as she did outside the door. It doesn’t stop her heart from breaking at the scene before her any less though. It takes a while but soon Stephanie is scrubbing at her face harshly and mumbling about it being in the sink.

With Stephanie’s permission Cassandra walks slowly to the sink. Her breath catches in her throat and her stomach tingles with so many emotions she doesn’t know what to feel. She’s angry. Angry at Dean, Stephanie’s ex who left Gotham and her without even trying to make the relationship work. She’s worried, worried that Stephanie won’t keep it- the baby. She’s scared if she will be a horrible aunt, scared she would hurt her future niece or nephew. And Cass is also so excited. Excited to see and witness this tiny precious human grow. But for now, she sticks to being calm because Stephanie needs her.

So Cass walks away from the sink with the pregnancy test and the two thin red lines. She walks away and cradles her sister in her arms as she cries, the whirlwind of emotions leaking from her eyes. No matter what Stephanie does. Cass would be there for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steph is a icon <3


	7. The Cat and The Downed Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Support – Carrying – Enemy to caretaker  
> \- Tim's sick. Selina calls bullshit that no one knew

“Kitten, I’m not fighting you.” Catwoman murmurs softly and Red Robin chuckles bitterly. He doesn’t mean too; Selina is a kind-hearted woman and the real life version of Robin Hood. She’s a sweetheart and Red loves her just as much as he loved his mother, if not more.

“You stole a million-dollar jewel,” Red Robin accuses, throat clogging up and raw. So maybe his hay fever wasn’t just a hay fever. He swallows back a cough, ignores the burning in his eyes and the heaviness of his limbs. A cold has never held him back before so he wouldn’t allow it to now.

Selina doesn’t even flinch under her leather clad mask. Her smile turns proud, twitching at her lips as she twists the offending item with her sharp index finger and thumb. She studies it, her eyes sharp and blood red lips glimmering in the moonlight. She nods at Red, not ashamed at all as she pockets it in one of the many hidden compartments of her suit. She’s been spending to much time with Bruce.

“I know. And I took it from a man who has various sexual assault charges against him. This little thing is the least thing he deserves.” Catwoman tells him and Red Robin can’t fight against that. He knew how money controlled people, how it made people feel invincible. How the money was a barrier to anyone who couldn’t see past it, providing a protection barrier they didn’t deserve.

Red Robin shakes his head in amusement, regretting it immediately as the world twists and spins right in front of him. They weren’t near any cameras; no surveillance would be able to catch this little interaction so Red was more than happy to say Catwoman managed to slip through his grasp. Catwoman was still a criminal in the police forces eyes and if they figured the Bats where letting her steal things there would be an uproar. They usually kept up public appearances, throwing punches and fighting if there were any witnesses or surveillance on their location. But there wasn’t any. So Red was happy to let her go. It was strange though, Catwoman usually enjoyed a mock fight, at least a run on rooftops to stretch her limbs.

“Fair,” Red murmurs, eyes drooping. His limbs felt like led, his throat scratched raw. His skin was pale and clammy and the retching taste of bile on his tongue. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone out tonight but he had to. So what if he was fighting a little cold? People could be dying, fighting for their lives as he fought a stupid cold. He’d finish his patrol then go home.

“Kitten, you’re sick.” Catwoman murmurs but it was all Selina with the worry shimmering in her eyes. Her walk wasn’t a stride or a stalk, wasn’t a slither as it normally was. This was just a quick shuffle, a worried walk towards Red.

She pulls of her gloves and that’s a bad idea. Her fingerprints could get somewhere. Expose her. That wouldn’t be good, for anyone. Her hand was cool, very cool and Red leans into her touch. It was a good thing he wasn’t wearing his cowl and just the eye piece. He was sure he was much cooler than he would be been with it. But despite that, Selina cool palm was like heaven to his flushed skin.

“You’re burning up.” Catwoman murmurs but there’s no cheeky and sly vigilante left. This was just Selina playing dress up. There was no Catwoman left besides the suit. “Kitten, you’re sick. How did any of them let you on patrol?”

Stupidly and pathetically his eyes burn. He closes his eyes, shame painting his cheeks in blotches of red and dark pink as he melts like putting in her soft embrace. “They didn’t know,” he reassures her but he doesn’t understand why he feels like he’s lying. The others didn’t know. “besides, I have to patrol. I can’t be in bed sick why people need help.”

“Bullshit,” Selina curses. Tim doesn’t flinch, just soaking in the embrace as the world twirls and twists, black blotches covering his eyes.

The wright in her arms become heavier and Selina sighs ever so softly. This boy would be the death of her. Selina is going to slaughter Bruce. He wouldn’t noticed Tim was sick. He should’ve said something. Anything. Before she does that though she’s going to take care of her kitten, her little boy and make sure he rests. The she can slice Bruce up and feed him to the kittens.

Softly she presses her lips to a slick with sweat forehead. A chuckle leaves her lips at the red stain sicking to his forehead, nearly blending in with the heat colouring his cheeks. This boy was silly and yet the best hero Selina had ever laid eyes on. He was her son in every way but blood.

“Let’s get you taken care of kitten.”


	8. Don't Say Goodbye. I Just Found My Home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly and surely Damian has found his home over the years. Now someone is saying goodbye and maybe it isn't on their own free will but Damian will never be able to accept it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t say goodbye” – Abandoned – Isolation  
> WARNINGS: Character death

Damian didn’t deserve this family. He didn’t, and he knew that and no matter how many times they say they love him or how he fits into the family that doesn’t mean he deserved them.

Damian had done so many bad things. He’s killed, he’s tortured, he murdered, had slaughtered innocents and despite all that he still gets hugs and fingers messing up his hair and put into a chokehold, not to kill, but to mess with him. It was mind boggling, how quick everyone was to welcoming him with open arms, welcoming him home. And Damian had denied them, refused to accept fathers adopted charities as his brothers.

Grayson had been persistent though. He annoyed Damian greatly and yet he looked up to him. Grayson was the first Robin, it was in his embers. He was Robin, even if his name was now Nightwing. He named the mantle Damian held so dearly and closely to his chest an when the time came, Grayson chose him to make the Robin name proud. And Damian hadn’t. not at first. But Grayson never blamed him, he’d just sigh, scold him and reminded Damian he wasn’t in the league anymore. He was home and he had no obligation to follow their lead anymore. Grayson was the first one he accepted as his family, maybe even before he accepted his own father.

Then there was Todd. Damian had called the man a disgrace so many times, belittled him with everything he could. He prodded at his flaws then burned them alive, until Todd was raw and his eyes burned, not with fire, but unshed tears that only Damian and Cain could sense. Nothing he did kept Todd away though. He came back again and again, conspiring with him on how they could get away with Jokers murder. He read books out loud to him despite the facts Damian was above the average reading level, he introduced the Disney and Pixar movies to him, forced him to watch. Together they smuggled animals into the house and maybe that’s where they truly bonded, when Damian accepted the towering man as family, as his home.

Meeting Cain had reawakened jealously, hot and ugly, in his chest. It burned and bubbled within his stomach, overriding any admiration he had previously for the woman. She was powerful, diligent. She was everything Damian was not. His father knew it too. No, he didn’t love Damian any less, but he could see, Damian could see, that she would be the successor. She would be the next Batman. The jealously had bubbled up, overflowing and pooping and he had thrown an embarrassing tantrum. He’d attacked Cain but she didn’t fight back. Instead she let him hurt her, spit words of absolute fury and disgust right into her face. and Cain did something that still shocked him to this day. She hugged him and Damian accepted it. He might not be fathers successor but his sister was and sometimes it was hard to swallow but he accepted it. He could become his own person and Cain still fully supported him.

Then Brown and Thomas had come along. Damian had been better then, more himself and less of the league. They accepted him, included him in their nonsense discussions and their toddler worthy banters. There wasn’t a second, they second guessed him, there wasn’t a second, they didn’t trust him. There wasn’t a second, they didn’t consider him as their brother. And Damian had accepted them as his home that it felt like there wasn’t a second where he hadn’t considered them not being his family. Any of them being his family.

Unlike them though, he had only recently started accepting Drake as his home, as his family. Drake was insufferable, a know it all and couldn’t mind his own business for a second. He hadn’t deserved Robin, he had forced his slimy little mitts into the mantle. But it wasn’t that cut and dry, was it? If he hadn’t his father would be lost, a killer, something his grandfather desired from him. If he hadn’t Gotham wouldn’t be like it was today and that infuriated Damian. It infuriated him that Drake was just so good. He hadn’t trained as much as he had and yet Drake was on par with Cain, their fights bloody and brutal. Drake hadn’t studied as much as Damian and yet he was naturally a genius, his eyes roaming over the cases his own father couldn’t. Damian was jealous of Drake, because if Cain wasn’t the successor, Damian knew Tim would be.

Damian knew all this before seeing him face to face and when he actually saw Drake? Jealousy had burned his stomach because he had been so welcoming, eyes delighted at the mere site of Damian and the prospect of having a little brother he could dote on. Damian hadn’t acted fairly and he knew this. Knew it before he attacked the boy, knew it before he forced the mantle into his own, rightful, hands. He knew it every time he picked a fight, burning Drake alive while dousing all his insecurities in gasoline and igniting them for eternity.

To this day Drake still surprised him. He was surprised when Drake gave Damian the mantle that second time, he was surprised that Drake initiated contact, hands on his shoulders, fingers in his hair, legs knocking together and there with a helping hand when Cain destroyed him in a matter of seconds. He was surprised when Drake looked out for him in patrol, surprised how the man introduced Damian to his hobbies and he was surprised when Drake saved him. Damian was surprised now, but even more he was downright and utterly pissed off.

His brows are furrowed, lips trembling in their ugly twisted scowl. His vision of the prone form before him is blurred and disfigured with the tears he’s carrying in his eyes. The slide down his cheeks, tickle as they cling to his eyelashes. Damian doesn’t care he’s being vulnerable; he doesn’t care if he’s crying. He doesn’t care that he’s weak. Because it was his fault that Drake was dying on that metal slab. It was his fault that he had been so reckless. It was all his fault and now Drake was dying from some poison no one has even heard off until now.

“Wake up,” he snaps at the prone form but Drake ignores him. He doesn’t even stir. “Wake up!” Damian snarls and he’s lunging off the plastic chair that leave red marks on the back of his thighs and dents in his skin. Damian was the one who triggered the trap. Damian was the one who forgot his breathing mask. Damian was the one who should be on that cold metal slab. Not Timothy. Him.

He’s shaking the lifeless form, the cold to the touch form. He’s shaking his brother, slick with sweat bangs and tears poking at his eyes. No matter how hard he shakes, Timothy refuses to move. He’s pale, cold and he’s not moving, not even doing that infuriating tick of connecting his thumb with all his fingers. Instead he’s limp in Damian’s hold and the heartbeat is an unsteady echo in the cave.

“Wake up!” Damian cries and there’s a pressure circling around his stomach and strong forearms palling his away despite the fact there were no one on the room mere seconds before. There’re voices, there’s shouting but the frantic beeping of the heart monitor is near deafening. “I just found my home so don’t you dare say goodbye! Don’t you dare leave me all alone!”

His words are met with a deafening silence. The shouting dies out and no one speaks. Damian goes limp. Limper than the corpse of his brother and the arms around his tighten, whispers pressed against his hair. His brain doesn’t make sense of the words, hearing focused of the flatline that echoes around the cave and grates at his ears.

Timothy said goodbye and Damian will never forgive him for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy hurting these two far too much for this it to be healthy


	9. It Was Good. Was.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise charity event goes awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Gore, blood, implied character death
> 
> Take me instead – Run! – Ritual sacrifice

The gala was in chaos. It was rather ironic, at least, to Jason it was.

For once it wasn’t even Bruce’s. It was this guy called Tony Whitmore, a decent bloke actually. Normally the bloke does hospital fundraisers and raises awareness for the disabled. This time it was an event for the LGBTQI+ community. His son recently came out as gay and despite being absolutely oblivious to anything remotely queer the man was completely supportive, creating this event a week later. This event was to raise money and awareness and there were various pamphlets and slideshows to help people understand the different sexualities.

Bruce had heard about the event, at first Jason thought Whitmore told him about it via invite but he actually became aware of it from Kate, Kate who no one had seen face to face since her move to Australia. Technically Jason wasn’t completely wrong, it may’ve been an open event but Whitmore did send an invite to the Wayne’s. Bruce just knew about it before the invite as Kate had told him before it arrived. Of course, Bruce didn’t say anything, just telling all his strays they were going to the event, not that anyone argued this time, they all wanted to show their support. Besides its not like all the Wayne’s were straight, Kate Kane was living proof of that.

The ride there was long and cramped but it was good. Duke had to sit on Cass’ lap and Tim had straddled Stephanie to do her makeup. Jason was honestly impressed, the road wasn’t exactly smooth and they had been in a car but Stephanie’s pride makeup ended up looking honest to god beautiful, as if done by a professional. Cass obviously agreed and got the asexual colours painted on her cheeks and her eyelids decorated as rainbows. Tim went for a naked pink for her lips and Jason was proud to say his sisters looked gorgeous. Tim wasn’t done there though. He did Dick’s makeup, much to his brothers’ excitement, painting his lips in a beautiful glittery pattern. Instead of basic eyeshadow he painted the Nightwing mask lightly across his face and used eyeshadow to colour it in the pansexual colours. It was magnificent to be honest. Never being one to be left out the rest got their nails painted while Duke got some light eyeshadow on his eyelids and contour to his cheeks. Jason would just like to say his family may be batshit crazy but they made it up with their looks. They all had fun chipping in to do Tim’s makeup and Tim refused to take it off even when his blush wasn’t blended in properly. Tim had to straddle a lot of people but he agreed it was worth it, pink lips raised in a smirk and eyeliner sharp.

They were happy to jump out the car, grinning widely at each other and cheering when Alfred stepped out the limousine with a rainbow tie and various pride pins pinned to his whit jacket. They cheered louder when Bruce came out with his hair dyed with the pride flag colours. Bloody brilliant. When walking up the cobbled path a few teens and adults asked for photos with them, grinning as their eyes were blinded with a flash. A nice teenage boy, Will, was more than happy to take a photograph of them when asked so quickly they arranged themselves to pose in front of the fountain with mini pride flags surrounding it. They did various poses and the boy who had the camera was laughing so hard he nearly dropped Bruce’s phone.

He did when Kate scared to crap out of them. Despite his stitches he managed to pick the phone up and film their reactions to seeing Kate and her wife, Roxy, after so long. Miraculously, Will, got their reactions when they got to meet their precious baby nephew Hugo for the first time. It was beautiful and Jason would’ve teared up if he wasn’t terrified of the wrath Tim would bring for ruining his makeup.

When arriving at the entrance of the mansion they all cheered and clapped at the sign standing big and threatening at the open doors. It warned if there were any violence or hate directed at anyone here or in general then they would immediately be removed from the premises. If anyone feels uncomfortable by any comments they were to immediately tell Whitmore or one of the guards. And right underneath? The sign proudly said to make the phobes afraid. They got another photo, each of them posing by the sign.

Soon they were dancing, cheering as they did. Steph danced with multiple guys and girls as did Cass. Jason saw a lot of flushed cheeks when Cass dipped them flawlessly. It was hilarious and Jason nearly cried laughed when Tim started doing the waltz with Will, watching their new friend gay panic when Tim dipped him and placed a rose between his lips.

After that Jason went to chat with Kate, laughing at her stories and crooning at the baby photos while Bruce hogged Hugo. It was amazing and fun. Then it all went to hell.

A deafening bang roared in Jason’s ears and a shout left his lips as a piercing wail from Hugo echoed through the air. “Get down!” he yells to Kate, forcing her to her knees and shielding her from the flying concrete and bricks.

Boots crush against glass and broken plates and everyone sharply inhales through their teeth. Through the smoke a dark figure emerges, a Cheshire cat mask covering their face. the man was wearing a suit, a gun between his fingers. He said nothing and no one dares to move, hearts hammering and terror gripping at their heart in a deadly vice hold.

“There’s a lot of people here, isn’t there?” The disfigured voice covers Jason’s frame with freezing flames, just like a snug coat that was just a little too tight. The man was casual, too causal. He was not afraid to die, meaning he wasn’t afraid to kill. “A shame you all have to die. Don’t worry kids, I don’t care about your sexuality. If any of you survive tell the cops it wasn’t a hate crime.” The man chuckles, shoulders trembling as broken sobs echo in the air. “Oh no, no, no. I just simply like killing the cattle and my oh my is there so many sheep in here today.”

Coughs echo throughout the room and through the condensed smoke as well as soft cries. The smoke trials in the air, slowly dispersing through the air. Swallowing thickly, he turns to Bruce, seeing his crouching protectively in front of Roxy. Roxy was clearly terrified but she was strong, cradling Hugo to her chest like a lifeline. There were tears in her eyes but she refused to cry. His father glowered at the man but Jason could see the terror spread across his face as he gazed behind the man.

He swallows thickly, arm tightening around Kate’s shoulder. Kate’s forest green eyes follow his and she cries out sharply, face going awfully pale under the blush painted on her cheeks. Slowly the tears track marks through them as she huddles under Jason’s arm, horror seemingly painted permanently on her face. The were okay but their sisters and brothers weren’t. God, they weren’t okay in the slightest.

They had been caught in the blast, right where the fucker made his grand entrance. He could see Cassandra cradling Duke to her chest, snow white skin stained in dark blood. There were crystal like tears in her eyes, lips trembling and desperately pressing her blood soaked skirt against the gaping wide wound in their baby brothers stomach. His sister wasn’t fairing much better, a deep wound sluggishly bled from her hairline, staining her charcoal locks into a furious red. Her ankle was twisted horribly, swelling and purple. She refused to move away from Duke, even when a teenage girl pressed a handkerchief to her forehead tenderly as she trembled on her knees.

The others weren’t any better, Tim being the worst of them all. Paper sheet white bone ripped through his ligaments and muscle, deadly sharp as it made itself known from his leg. The poor kid was awake, pain painted across his pale and sweaty face, chest heaving and teeth gritted. There were three people surrounded him, the teenager from before, Will, fluttering around his leg, desperate to help in some way. The other two girls were by Tim’s side, attempting to stem the bleeding from his arm, or at least, where his arm should’ve been.

Bile rose in the back of his throat and Jason forced himself to tear his gaze away. He couldn’t help Tim; the girls and Will would have to their best to help him. He couldn’t do anything at the moment, he can’t help them. The least he can do is locate the other three while the man scanned the crowd in sickly amusement.

Shoulders trembling he spots Damian being hugged to an aging mans chest. He was still, tears trekking down his face, as blood bubbled past his lips. He was eerily still but he was alive damnit. He didn’t look it but he was, Jason could see his chest trembling with his breathy fear. Slowly he follows Damian’s haunted gaze, breath catching through gritted teeth and limbs feeling heavy as steel. Stephanie was pumping at Dick’s chest, hair bouncing with tears leaving a trail down her sooty cheeks. Dick didn’t look alive. He wasn’t breathing.

“You fucker,” Jason murmus low under his breath. Kate pinches his arm, her gaze sharp despite the shimmering of her ocean gree eyes. She was scared, she was scared for her family. her old one and her new one.

The mans talking agasin, fingering the gun as if it was a toy and didn’t mean possible life and death. There weren’t any sirens in the distance, they were all alone. The man chuckles, the safety clicks off and he spins around, the bang echoing amongst the screams.

“Run!’” Jason screams and that’s exactly what happens.

It was like a stampede as everyone ran, generous people helping the injured to escape from the dreaded room. Kate sprints to Roxy, pulling her wife and child up and running across the room. The man was laughing, still spinning and shooting manically.

Jason meets Bruce’s gaze and they run. They don’t run away. they run towards the Cheshire man.

He wouldn’t get away with hurting their family.

No matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't quite know how to end this so hopefully you enjoyed still!


	10. Gravity Can't Be Defied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is afraid. Not of heights but falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Falling from a great height, implied character death
> 
> Blood Loss – Internal Bleeding – Trail of Blood = Alternative: Falling

Dick wasn’t sure how it happened.

Ever since their deaths, his parents deaths, he’s been terrified of heights. Not heights perse but falling. No matter how you fell, what distance you fell for there was always a risk. Always a chance to hurt yourself immensely and all it depended on was how you landed. And that terrified him.

Nobody could beat gravity. Not when they are falling and not when gravity is against them.

So, he always checked the grapple guns. He always did. He made sure there was enough rope, that the rope was tight and could take on at least the weight of three people. He made sure the metal claw was sharp, so it could latch onto anything. He always checked before he went out. He checked the others too. He did that tonight, he checked Damian’s, Tim’s and Cass.’ He checked all of them but he didn’t have time to check his own.

But that was okay though. He had checked it last night and the rope held strong every time he swung, every time the wind tickled his cheeks and smoothed back his locks. It stayed strong when the grapple latched onto a lamppost, the metal of the light creaking under his weight. It was strong when he was spying on thugs, the rope easily carrying his weight as he hung upside down in the shadows, just like a true bat. It stayed strong when he jumped, when he barrelled, when he flew across the many buildings of the city he couldn’t help but love. It stayed strong in the blaze of the crumbling building. It hadn’t helped much, the wooden beams falling and crashing, smoke forcing itself through his lungs and carving itself through his chest. So, he had placed it right back on the holster on his hip, positioning a mask on a little boys’ face as he ran. It was strong until it wasn’t.

Everything was perfect that night. The night was quiet, drunk men and woman being tied down when their actions went too far. There were no muggings’, the night was quiet and oh so peaceful. All the familiar faces that haunt these streets were in Arkham, quietly plotting their future escape of the wretched place. Tonight though, it was peaceful.

It was a quiet night until Red Hood made an appearance.

They had met up after patrolling the area. The coms had been quiet and the radio attached to their earpiece that connected to the GCPD was silent besides the complaint of loud noise. They were going to go home, to maybe get a goodnights rest for once. Maybe catch up on some much needed sleep. Dick was all for it but then Red Hood suggested roof top tag and Dick had agreed.

Red Robin lost rock paper scissors so therefore he was it. The others had no qualms in rubbing it in, teasing the boy who merely rolls his crystal blue eyes and smiles. He starts counting and everyone ran and Dick pretends his breath doesn’t catch in his throat when Stephanie jumps and is gobbled up by the building. He pretends his heart isn’t hammering in his chest and fear isn’t caving his ribs in to pierce at his heart when she resurfaces with a belly full laugh. He pretends his heart doesn’t jump every time his family falls just to fly.

Laughter echoes in the night, echoing through the dark alleyways as the wind carries the noise away. So far everyone has been caught besides Red Hood and him. Dick reckons Black Bat got herself caught. She always did enjoy the hunt.

“Its ya’lls faults for wearing bright ass costumes!” Jason teases through the coms, voice thick with adrenaline and accent heavy with laughter. “You all look like lightbulbs in the night! Its no wonder ya’ll get kidnapped all the time!”

“Hood!” Dick admonishes, a smile on his lips. it wasn’t because it was funny. No, this smile was purely exasperation. Totally.

“Says the Robin who died first!” Robin grouches and Dick actually gasps, chocking on the wind as his eyelids peel back wide. There’s a grunt, a crash as Stephanie’s shill laughter pierces at their ears. There’s a soft sigh from Cass and Dick can hear the fondness intertwining itself in that small exhale of a breath.

Red Hood has been suspiciously silent, the only sound from his com is the crackly wind and soft breaths. Suddenly there’s a shriek and Damian lets out a curse and Dick knows his piggy bank is going to feel it in the morning. After all, Alfred Pennyworth knows everything. It’s brilliant really, but also scary.

“Roof tag has once again turned into save one of the bats from death from another bat,” Stephanie chirps in and Dick lets out a chuckle, shaking his head as the coms turn off. All of them searching for the two roughhousing boys.

His locks whips at his cheeks as boots skid across rocky concrete. Gravel squelches under his weight as he turns mid run, ankle narrowly avoiding bending in a way it shouldn’t. Boots crush against concrete and dried up bird poop and he leaps off the side of the building, grapple gun out and firing into the distance.

The thing is, it doesn’t hold. Dick’s stomach drops, a sinking feeling as the familiar snap echoes in his ears. His ears buzz, chest hammering with a beat to a deadly song. His neck muscles strain as if he just completed a workout, his head arched back in the path of a downward parabola. His torso was no longer there, anchoring his legs to the ground. The rope was gone, dispersing as quick as he was falling. Where was it?

His eyes were now open all the way, ocean eyes just as watery as the sea, hidden behind a mask the shielded the terror hidden in them from the world. He’s flapping in the wind, body useless as gravity pulls his down, still, he attempts to contort his body to a position where he could turn his head to see what was beneath him, there had to be something to stop his fall. Anything. His eyes catch onto his legs, both of them rising as he descended, just like two kites rising right above his head.

There was his abdomen, splayed out ahead of him as he fell. He could feel nothing under him. Even the air was nowhere. His hands were flapping by his side, more useless than two noodles he had no control of. His chest tightens, heart hammering and breath erratic and he forces his eyes shut because there was no stopping this. There was nothing to stop gravity. All he could do was brace for impact and listen to the chatter of his family in his ear.

He was going just like his parents and that was the only thing he was okay about. No, he wasn’t afraid of heights. He was afraid of falling. But right now?

He wasn’t scared in the slightest.


	11. The Illusion of Not Being Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim hasn't been around recently. Jason wants to know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Defiance – Struggling – Crying
> 
> WARNING: Swearing (Jason -.-)

Jason was getting better visiting the family. He wouldn’t say he was all cosy with them, not yet. He wasn’t quite ready for that step.

But despite the miniscule time he’s been there, if it’s for brunch or dinner – never breakfast, who gets up that early anyway? – he’s noticed a presence that’s been missing. It took him far too long to notice despite how glaringly obvious it was. There wasn’t the usual humming, a foot constantly thumping against the floor rhythmically. There weren’t any soft mutters, no fond sighs and soft smiles. Tim was gone. And he left a gaping hole that’s too much to bare when you notice it. His baby brother filled in that silence, he was a constant background noise that without him there it was completely jarring, as if the very floor he walked on just vanished.

The next dinner he goes to, no one says a thing about it. About Tim. They chatter and talk, laugh and flick peas across the table when they think Alfred isn’t looking. They don’t mention him, they talk about friends and family and what they did when they hung out with each other. No one mentioned Tim and Cass was the only one who seemed to notice it besides him. Jason brings it up.

“Where’s Timmers?” He asks, smiling at the thought that he didn’t use replacement automatically. It was instinct but he hadn’t have used it. This was proof it was getting better. That he was getting better. To hide it he wipes at his gravy stained lips with the back of his palm. Alfred gives him a look, passing a napkin over and does not lower his gaze until he wipes at his mouth with it.

Damian snorts and Jason eyes him, lowering the stained napkin to his lap and playing with the sprayed edges. He licks his lips, raising an eyebrow when Damian looks at him like the answer was obvious. “Really Todd? Drake’s working like he always does. Pointless really.”

Jason can detect the underlining insult under the sneer and a frown tugs at his own lips. He doesn’t say anything, waits for someone else to step in. They don’t. Dick just sighs, palm cupping the back of his neck and rolling his head in a stretch. He mumbles a small ‘ _Damian’_ and Jason lips twitches even lower, ripping at the corner of the napkin screwed up in his hands.

It was obvious this was normal. Hell, Tim wasn’t the only one Damian not so subtly insults. That didn’t make it right and Jason was expecting someone to say something. Admonish him, tell the boy not to speak about others like that. To tell him that Tim was a person, that his work was incredibly helpful to the field because it was. To tell him to not treat his family like that. Hell, he expected someone to just say something that told the boy he shouldn’t behave like this. No one does though and Jason wonders how often this happens.

He can _see_ Cass thinking the same thing. Her lips are twisted into a small frown, gazing at Dick and Bruce with a soft disappointment that their gazes unintentionally avoid. Charcoal brown eyes meet emerald green and Jason nods, forcing the frown off his face and gathering a neutral and bored look and pose.

“And you know that how?” Jason quizzes, an unintentional burp escaping his lips. Alfred eyes him again and he receives a disgusted look from Damian and a snort from Dick. Cass shakes her head, hair tumbling gracefully, framing her face smoothly. He shoots her an apologetic grin and turns back to the disgusted kid. “I mean- I doubt you of all people would ask if he was working. No offence.”

Damian’s forest eyes glare at him flatly and it was oddly amusing with his hot chocolate and gravy moustache. “Of course I didn’t ask the buffoon. He’s always working so Grayson just stopped begging for him to come over. If he comes, he comes. It’s not like we care.”

Jason tilts his head, lolling his gaze to his eldest brother to aim a sharp brow at him. Dick doesn’t meet his gaze though and he frowns, not bothering to show his displeasure. “If what the brat says is true, wouldn’t it be good to pull him away from his work?”

Dick sighs again, scratching his nose and sending Jason a look that just screams ‘ _drop it_.’ “Tim’s nineteen Jason. He can make decisions for himself.”

Jason snorts and rolls his eyes. So, Dick is allowed to beg Jason and Cass, who are over nineteen, to come over at least once a week for dinner but doesn’t even bother to ask Timmy? That doesn’t sit right with him. Not at all. It wouldn’t be a surprise to Jason if Tim didn’t rock up just because of this attitude alone.

Exaggerating a yawn, he stretches him limbs much like a cat. Tears pricking at his eyes, he stretches his back as he stands. He covers his mouth with his fist, blinks his eyes and lowers his hand. “Well I’m off then. Thanks for the dinner Alfie.”

Jason rubs his stomach and walks away, ignoring Dick’s protest and the words on the tip of Bruce’s tongue. A figure follows, silent on her feet and Jason lets a smile twitch at his lips, arriving at the front door entrance and tugging his motorcycle helmet to his chest. With a yawn, a real one this time, he turns around to greet Cass.

Charcoal eyes study him and Jason smiles softly. He waits for Cass to find what she needs to, tucking his helmet under his arm and leaning on his right foot as he does. Finally, Cass nods to herself, shadowing Jason with the lightning worthy gaze hidden in her eyes. She reaches out, grabs his callous hand in her smooth one and brings it to her chest in a form of a hug.

“Tim. Home.” She says it so earnestly that even if Jason wasn’t going to check on Tim before then he would definitely be now. He smiles, grins really, and steals his hand back to ruffle her hair with his greasy fingers.

“Of course, kiddo,” he agrees, dodging the jab at his stomach and jamming the helmet on his head. He was going to check on his brother.

-

Why Tim chose an apartment complex to live in, Jason has no idea. Really, who wanted to hear the parties and the arguments, not to mention people having sex all the time like rabbits in heat. Nope, no thanks. Jason quite prefers his cramped little house with the buggered air conditioning. He seriously doubts he’d survive a day here without putting a hole in the wall when telling someone to, kindly, shut up.

Whistling he jogs up the last steps, dodging past little old ladies going slower than a snails pace, cursing the broken elevator with a passion. Of course Timmy chooses this wreck of a place when he has access to over a million dollars in his pocket. Literally all of his guardians are rich, even the dead ones! Well, besides his stepmother. Dana was it? Oh well. Not his problem. One mission at a time. He’d wrangle the little shit into a proper place another day.

Cursing the stairs under his breath, he shoves his hands into his jean pockets and walks briskly down the hallways full of apartments. He passes by mouldy doors, nodding approvingly as a rather clean one with pot plants decorated around it. It only takes a second or two to find Tim’s. Number 207 on the fourth floor. Closest to the fire escape in case he needs another entrance. On the top floor, making it easier to patrol without suspicion. He was a clever kid, that was for sure.

With a sigh Jason knocks on the door, quickly stuffing his fingers back in the thigh pockets of his jeans at the chilly air. There’s muffled grumbling, and the door opens with a creak that makes Jason openly cringe and rub the side of his head against his jumper clad shoulder. Yep, next mission is definitely forcing Timbers into a proper, functioning home. Not this rundown and shitty apartment.

All the thoughts of dragging his little brother by the hair kicking and screaming vanish in the instant he sees him. Tim looks exhausted, face pale under his skin and purple stained bruises painted under his eyes. His lips are chapped, dead skin being pulled at by nimble fingers, leaving fresh skin shimmering with blood and dried skin standing wilted but proud. His eyes catch Jason of guard, his usual ocean eyes a murky blue. They were clouded, like clouds reflecting on the ocean water. Tim, his little brother, looked _dead_.

“Timmy?” Jason asks quietly, afraid that the mere force of his voice would break him. Tim, for his effort, doesn’t even flinch, his eyes trailing to rest on Jason’s forehead dumbly. Slowly the focus in his eyes return, the clouds dispersing but it doesn’t make Tim look that much better. Slowly his eyes trail down to Jason’s face, recognition making his bloodied and chapped lips part softly

“Jason?” If it was possible, his voice was more wrecked than his appearance.

“Hey Timmy. Close your mouth, yeah? Don’t want cha’ catching flies now, do we?” Somehow Jason manages to greet him somewhat normally, walking through the door and throwing an arm over his little brothers’ shoulders. Bones dig into Jason’s forearms, under Tim’s flimsy red t-shirt. “We missed ya, you know? Didn’t catch ya at the dinner last night. Not avoiding us are ya, because if you are, I have a few words to say to that.”

He steers them into the room, somewhat pushing Tim to get him moving. Tim’s apartment was not clean perse but it wasn’t messy either. Documents were strewn across the coffee table, mugs still full of the blessing of caffeine. Other than that, the apartment didn’t even look lived in. This wasn’t Jason’s first time here. The last time he was here, this place was a mess. It was lived in, disgustingly so. Clothes had been strewn across the place, kitchen cluttered with dirty dishes and TV as background news playing quietly. This was not the apartment Jason knew it should be.

He manoeuvres the boy carefully, forcefully, to the couch. It was littered with papers, documents that have been wrinkled with various crease marks. There weren’t any food stains, so he took it as win. Playfully Jason shoves the boy onto the green, atrociously hideous, couch. Does no one know good house décor these days?

“Where ya been Timmers? Haven’t seen ya around recently.” Jason drawls, manoeuvring himself so his feet were across Tim’s lap and his back was painfully edged into the armrest of the couch. He throws an arm over the back, fingers picking at undone stitches.

Tim doesn’t say anything at first and Jason can see his mind running, coming up with all the different scenarios in that big, ridiculous, brain of his. He was analysing Jason’s possible reactions, coming up with escape routes. Over thinking and over analysing. He says nothing though, knows if he does Tim will flee. Sometimes it felt like he knew everything about the boy and other times? It was like he knew nothing about his little brother.

He watches Tim swallow, lick at those cracked lips. He inhales through his nose, stomach and chest heaving as he contemplates if he should tell Jason the truth. Slowly and eventually he gazes down to his lap, fingers fiddling with the brown stained shoelaces on Jason’s boots.

“They don’t want me,” he murmurs and Jason nearly bulks. He knew Tim had always had insecurities about his placement in the family and god, Jason hasd not been any help with the given nickname he’d dubbed the boy. But he never even dreamed that Tim would actually believe it, not to the end of his days. Tim was brilliant, he analyses things, he thinks things through, he was brilliant to put it simply. So how on earth had he come up with this conclusion? This thoroughly wrong conclusion.

Then Jason’s mind reels. He thinks back to earlier, to Dick’s, to everyone’s, blatant disregard at the jabs Damian aimed at Tim. He thinks back, knowing Dick had simply stopped asking him to come. He automatically knows Bruce wouldn’t reach out. Alfred, bless his heart, is too busy dealing with everyone else’s shit to even be able to check on Tim these days. No wonder his brilliant, oh so stupid, brain came to the conclusion he wasn’t even wanted. And they allowed him to believe that.

What kind of dysfunctional fucking family are they?

Jason sits up and even as the shoelaces are ripped from Tim’s nimble fingers, the boy still gazes blankly at the spot they rested mere seconds before. He sits up, crinkling of papers echoing in the suffocating silence as he moves. Tim says nothing and Jason is so mad that the grip he places on his little brothers’ shoulders could crush the bones beneath Tim’s skin. No, he’s not mad at Tim. How could he? He’s mad at this so called family and their lack of fucking communicating with each other. He’s mad that no one seemed to notice the boy left suffering by himself, the brilliant boy who put false, but believable, lies into his own head. And Jason? He’s mad at himself too.

“That’s fucking shit.” He murmurs, shaking his head as anger curls within his stomach. Tim doesn’t seem to hear him, now picking at a lime green cushion. “That’s bullshit and you know it. And even if you don’t I know it and so do the rest of those dysfunctional fucks. Majority rules, ya know?” A small snort escapes the boy beneath him and Jason smiles softly. Tim always called the majority rule thing a mere hoax. He always said that it didn’t necessarily lead to right answers, if there even is such a thing as ‘right’ answers and that people were usually pressured or biased when choosing a certain opinion. Jason always called his reasoning bullshit, just because he could.

“Tim, they’re idiots and their brains are even dumber. They don’t know how to function like normal human beings. Don’t go listening to that brain of ya’s either-” He cuts himself short. Tim makes a small sound in the back of his throat but the death grip on his shoulder only tightens in response. Tim wasn’t wearing a short sleeve shirt, the sleeves barley covering his elbows, but during Jason’s manhandling it had ridden up. Right underneath that cotton cloth lay bruises at the joints, two little holes that had clearly pierced Tim’s skin. Needles.

“What the fuck Tim?” Jason snarls and Tim is a fast little bugger, pulling away from Jason’s hold but Jason isn’t an old fox either.

Before Tim can rub, before he can escape Jason has him pinned in his hole. He’s wrangled the boy to his chest, a large thigh over Tim’s pathetically kicking legs. One arm cups Tim’s stomach and the other holds the offending arm out. Despite all this, through his panicking and muddled mind, Jason knows Tim could’ve escaped if he truly wanted to. He knows Tim, knows the boy could’ve escaped by now but despite that the kid is so desperate for some form of physical contact he’s willingly letting himself be manhandled to Jason’s chest. It boggles Jason’s mind and the anger simmering in his gut turns thick with confusion and desperate. There’s no way Tim would do drugs. No willingly. So what the hell happened to him?

His mouth opens but no words come out, mind running far too fast for his words to catch up, or even to begin to form. Tim slackens in his hold, legs stop kicking and the face pressed into his stomach moves up to rest fruitlessly onto his chest. “I didn’t do it,” he whispers and its so broken that Jason’s heart just stops.

He licks his lips, nods and swallows. He shuffles them around, so they’re lying on the couch with his little brother under his arm and a warm faced pressed near his armpit. “I know. You may be fucking stupid but you’re not that fucking stupid.”

Tim doesn’t say anything to that and Jason’s can feel his shirt getting damp as eyelashes sprinkle droplets down his side. Slowly, carefully he rubs at Tim’s back, leaning awkwardly to press his lips to Tim’s feverish forehead. He was warm, incredibly so. Warm enough that Jason worries he might be getting a cold, possibly a fever. “What the hell happened kid?”

Tim shakes his head, inhaling sharply before letting out a cough. Jason would cough too; he doubts his armpit smells too pleasant.

“Scarecrow,” he whispers and that simmering anger comes back at full force and so does his worry. “It was scarecrow. He was practising his new gas when I came in, he caught me by surprise and managed to get me twice in the arm. I- I honestly didn’t think it did anything. It had no effect. But my mind wont stop fucking thinking and I can’t stop shaking and all these thoughts are coming from nowhere and I can’t get it to stop! I tested it, got my blood with another needle. Its supposed to run out in a day or so. I couldn’t go to dinner, didn’t wanna see their disappointment for being caught off guard. They don’t want me anyway.”

Jason sighs softly, pressing a kiss to the heated forehead and brining the boy closer. Scarecrow’s antidote had clearly heightened Tim’s anxiety and depression and Jason has no doubt that the voices were also the lunatics doing. He can’t believe Tim went through this alone, defiant enough to do this alone. This fucking kid.

“It’s the antidote talking Tim. They care about you and so do I. I won’t tell them, yeah? This’ll be our little secret. Next time I want you to come to me though, yeah? You don’t have to be this defiant, you know? You ain’t alone kiddo.”


End file.
